Static
by raynepyke
Summary: REID/OC Lila Stevens Dr. Spencer Reid; genius with a tortured past had always excelled at his job as a profiler, but one rather unconventional woman shakes up his life.


_One day, that was all it took. In fact, only five hours if you were technical.___

_Spencer Reid, on a whim, ran into a burning building that was sure to collapse, all because of a scream. He saved a young woman who couldn't have been much younger than him, but the gruesome images he had run into haunted him long after that fateful day.___

_Now, two year after the event, Spencer is reconnected with the same girl, who is now a main witness in a serial killer case as the unsub had been her captor in the building where Lila had first layed eyes her saviour._

March 27th 2010 (Present)  
Rain, the crackling of wood, and the tormented screams from other rooms were the sounds that filled the space around me. I sat huddled in a corner, desperately pulling my hair behind my head trying to keep it from being burnt, but that was only in vain since I could smell it singeing.

I had no idea how I had ended up in this situation to begin with.

3 Months Ago  
I was just walking to my car after work when I felt a large blow across my face. Pain was the only thing I could comprehend at that moment, even though I tried desperately to see my captor's face before they tied a blind fold around my head.

As I was being yanked along the concrete, I was dragged through various objects, hard. Every time I collided with a foreign object on the street, I felt my skin split and bruise, and my bones crack. I screamed with pain and terror trying to attract any soul on the street, or within hearing range, but one of the men around me grabbed a firm hold of the back of my hair and pulled back roughly.

"You shut the fuck up right now, you hear? Or I'll slit your fucking throat right here and now." The man growled, and from his voice, I could just imagine him being a grizzly of a man.

Even in mortal peril, I was still a writer at heart; trying to make comparisons and understand the things around me.

Finally, after a quick drag, I was thrown away, left to catch myself on my hands blindly. The ground I had landed on was cracked and warped pavement that was damp with what smelled like piss and vodka.

Revolted, my gag reflex was triggered, and I gagged in my mouth. The putrid scent was enough to make even the toughest person empty their stomach.

Again, my head was held by my hair, and a set of lips came close to my ear and whispered "Don't you dare throw up, you little whore, Lila."

In an instant I clamped my mouth shut, but sausage like fingers grasped either side of my jaw and started to violently shake my head back and forth.

"You look just like your mother… You even act like her too. You filthy, horrible little drug whore. You should see what had become of Sheila now. Oh, you'd be so proud of your mama; laying on her back for money like the crack whore she is. You should see her, she looks pathetic and washed out. Oh you should have seen what we were doing to her just the other day. You would have been mortified at what we were putting inside her."

My stomach turned viciously within my skin, and I felt the acidic bile rise in my throat, stinging and burning the whole way up my esophagus. When the man with a grip finally tossed my head back, I simultaneously hit my head off of the brick behind my, and threw up, coating everything in front of my with my late lunch.

"Gross, you little skank!" Lila heard one man say before she felt a steel-toed boot connect with her rib cage.

"Mother fucker!" I screamed in agony, and I wrapped myself in my own arms for protection. Lying face-down in the alley way, I continued to be kicked and punched, almost beaten into oblivion.

Finally, when my brain started to get fuzzy around the edges, the physical assault stopped, and multiple hands grabbed me everywhere they could, mostly lifting me up by my clothing.

One final hit, and I lost complete consciousness.

* * *

When I finally came to, my eyes didn't have to adjust at all as I was locked in a basement. A basement as in concrete floors, exposed beams, stud walls with no drywall, and only one window that was high up the wall and didn't appear to open.

Wisely, before I tried to stand up, I slowly wiggled and flexed every bone, joint and muscle I possibly could. My legs felt damaged and painful, but not broken. My left wrist though felt as if all of the bones had been crushed within it.

When I tried to sit up, my rib cage protested profusely. When I finally managed to stand, I leaned against the wall and discovered that I wasn't chained to the wall or floor, or bound in any way.

Before I could get my extraordinarily shaky legs to cooperate, loud thumps outside the average wood door scared me so bad that I had to sit down again. When the door opened, a plate of food was slid in my direction, and the only one of my captors I had caught a glance of before walked in with a look of pure death upon his face.

My eyes widened in fear as the man approached me, and I tried to make myself as small as I possibly could, but my long hair was still flowing out, caked with dirt and grime, for grabbing.

That was how I had spent the next 3 months of my life. Held captive, fed cardboard food rarely, and beaten.

* * *

I had been lying on my back for the longest time; longer than I could remember, and the days had all blurred together making it impossible for me to remember what day of the week it was, let alone the date.

I had come up with something of a system. The men only came down to see me once a day, to bring me food that I rarely ate, but I would wait until they left before I silently crept over to the window and stood on my tipy-toes to try and pry the lock off of the window frame with a stray screw driver I had found lying around.

So far, I hadn't had any luck with my feeble attempt at escape, but I wasn't about to give up. Not when the alternative was just sitting here like a big target.

Just when I thought I had made a break through with the lock, I smelled the familiar scent of fire eating its way through wood.

Present Day  
I gasped as smoke flooded into the basement from the gap under the door, and heavy footsteps of multiple people running throughout the house. If I concentrated hard enough, I thought that maybe I could make out the voices and whereabouts of more than my three captors, and I thought that I had even heard the shouting of someone of authority, but then again I hadn't eaten or drank anything properly in months, so it was possible I was just delirious.

Right outside the door, someone was banging down the staircase, coughing heavily.

"Help! Help me, please!" I screamed as loud as I could, but that didn't say much as I was very weak. "Please…" I begged, hoping to god that it was someone out there that could help me get out of here.

"Hotch! There's someone down there, I'm going in!" a man shouted, and for the first time in however long she'd been in this wretched place for, I finally felt hope inside of my chest. "God damnit, Morgan, it's locked!"

"Watch out, baby boy," a deeper voice commanded, and within a kick or two, the wooden door split and broke open so two male figures could enter through the smoke.

At first, I felt terrified in case it had been the deranged captors again, but when softer hands grasped my upper arms carefully, I let myself be stood up.

"Miss… Miss? Can you talk? Better yet, can you walk?" A man with long, brown hair asked me, the panic in his eyes evident.

I nodded my head yes, and tried to take a hasty step, but my knee gave out and I hit the concrete hard, jarring my entire body.

"Oh god, Morgan, she can't walk and we're all going to burn to shit in here if we stay. Take my flashlight," the pretty boy said, tossing the object well before the other man could respond.

I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was being lifted off the ground, but the smoke restricted my already questionable breathing, and as long as I exited this burning building full of chaos, terrible smells and even worse memories, I knew that I could somehow recover.

* * *

"What's her name? Does anyone know?" an older man asked the crowd around her. There was a chorus of "no's" and a wave of shrugs, but their answers didn't seem to satisfy the man who had asked. "Well somebody figure this out!" he barked, and opened his cell phone in a swift movement. "Garcia, talk to me," he muttered as he was walking away from the crowd.

I was lying still on the stretcher, allowing the paramedics to probe and clean my body with my eyes closed, not because I was pretending to be asleep, but because I was too exhausted mentally and emotionally to open them and face my own situation.

"Lila Remy Stevens. Aged 23, born and raised in Quantico. Father was a drunk and mother was a crack addict. Was almost expelled from high school for a number of offences, almost confined in jail for the same reason. Was hard into drugs, but has been clean for 2 years and holds a job as a secretary at Higgen's and Levi's down on Fifth avenue. Current address 210 Broadway Street." the same man barked again.

"Where are we now, Hotch?" A female voice asked sweetly.  
"Some house on Osborn street."

A low whistle was sounded. "Man, we're waaaaaaayy out here," a different female said, this time her voice was higher.

It was at that point where the hands poking and prodding me must have gone to clean a gash because there was this furious burning that seemed to inhabit my entire leg. I could have been half dead, and it still would have made me shoot upright swearing.

"Jesus-fuck! What are you trying to do? Kill me even more?" I yelled. The words slipped out before I could rein them in and I instantly felt terrible. These people have just risked their lives for me and came all the way out here to save my sorry, captive ass, and here I was swearing at them for trying to heal me? "Sorry," I grumbled, not liking to apologize. "I was just caught up in the pain."

A young red-headed woman who couldn't have been 30 yet smiled at me warmly.

"I'm sorry miss, I should have warned you that it would sting," she said in her voice that sounded undoubtedly maternal and frowned a little bit.

"Oh good, Lila, you're awake!" a loud, take-charge sort of voice said, and the dark man directly to her left clapped loudly like thunder. Jesus, I could practically hear his smile.

Slightly scared still, and completely aware of my unfamiliar surroundings, I glanced around the 7-some odd people around me quickly, my eyes darting to a new pair every few seconds until I came across a particularly warm pair of brown eyes staring back at me intensely.

Damn, the man behind the eyes seemed to look into my soul, and it gave me cold shivers up my spine, but he had a face that could have woken me from the dead had need be.

"Lila Stevens," I said, in a brave move of confidence, and tried to stick my hand out for him to shake it, but unfortunately I had temporarily forgotten that I was strapped to a stretcher, so instead of my hand jutting out towards him, I really just jerked the whole contraption and sent myself tumbling off the back of the ambulance, luckily landing right side up.

While everyone had a good, well-natured chuckle at me, I blushed furiously, and the intense man stayed stoic.

"Agent Spencer Reid," he said with no emotion, and turned his head abruptly.

Confused, I wondered why he had turned away so abruptly, but it was then that I realized that he had caught sight of my track marks on the inside of my elbow from years ago, and that it probably had made him feel uncomfortable being near someone like me; someone from such a broken past.


End file.
